


looking for treble

by orphan_account



Series: don't be sharp [1]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Band Fic, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Violins, terrible band names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13571079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Seongwoo is in a band. Minhyun plays violin. Chaos ensues.





	looking for treble

**Author's Note:**

> this all came about because of the lovely [ben](https://twitter.com/honeysnacking)
> 
> also, the old spelling of "seongwoo" is used throughout because i really cannot wrap my head around seongwu i'm sorry

Seongwoo stares over to the other side of the room, glaring at the violin case precariously propped up beside the wall. 

_It’s not fair,_ he thinks to himself. _How come he gets to have his instrument in here, but I don’t?_ As always, his brain casually ignores all the practical problems that trying to fit a drum kit in a dorm room would entail, focusing instead on how unfair his life was.

He crosses his arms and looks back down at the pad of paper in his hands, completely blank. In true Seongwoo fashion, he’d left his assignment to the last minute, and now he had absolutely nothing and he needed to have written _something_ by Friday. It was currently Wednesday.

The door swings open, and Seongwoo immediately puts pencil to paper as if to pretend he was actually working. He doesn’t move his head, his eyes glued firmly to the notepad.

“That notepad is completely blank,” Minhyun comments dryly.

Seongwoo looks up. “Oh yeah?” he asks. “So, you can see through it to all the other pages, right?”

Minhyun shrugs, striding over to his violin case and picking it up with a level of tenderness that Seongwoo doubts he’s capable of for humans. He’s pretty sure Minhyun is a robot programmed to only love his violin. That, or, he’s some kind of psychopath incapable of human attachment. “Perhaps you should actually do your work on time, Ong.”

“Perhaps you should stay out of my business, Hwang,” Seongwoo replies. “Oh wait, I forgot, you must be taking out your boredom on me. Perhaps you shouldn’t have done a bachelor’s in Trying Not to Nap, huh?”

Minhyun’s eyes narrow. “I’ve told you already, Ong. If your brain isn’t developed enough to understand classical music, that’s something you should take up with your shrink, not me.”

Seongwoo glares at him. “Are you going to sit in here?” he asks.

Minhyun scoffs. “Like hell I’m not,” he says, sliding a fairly rumpled shirt out of his chest of drawers and staring at it for a second before folding it up and putting it back. “I have a _date_.”

“Are you finding your romantic partners in hospitals for the blind now?” Seongwoo answers, drumming his pencil against the pad, causing the lead to crumble slightly. 

“I think the thing people generally tend to have a problem with is my personality,” Minhyun answers dryly. “I’ve got a good face.”

Seongwoo shrugs, not wanting to admit that maybe on that front, he was right. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, Hwang.” 

His phone buzzes right then, giving him a good excuse to ignore Minhyun’s answer—it’s from Jaehwan. _Man, are you planning on coming or will we have to perform without a drummer?_ “Fuck,” he says.

Minhyun raises an eyebrow. “Did you forget something?”

Seongwoo glares at him, grabbing a bag and sliding the notepad and pencil in. Perhaps he’d get inspiration at the performance. “No,” he lies. “I’m completely organized.” 

“Huh,” Minhyun says. Seongwoo feels his eyes on him as he grabs his trusty leather jacket (something Jaehwan had insisted he buy if he was to be in his band) and slides it on. “Try not to wreck too many people’s ears, alright?”

“I’ll wreck however many ears I want to wreck,” Seongwoo says, striding over to the door and leaving the room.

 

Really, Minhyun didn’t want to be here.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Hyunbin, because Hyunbin was fine. He was a cellist, a couple years younger than Minhyun, and their friend groups overlapped often enough that they were fairly familiar. But he’d only agreed to come here because Hyunbin had been so earnest asking Minhyun out, and now he couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable that he was kind of leading the younger boy on.

The bar was fairly crowded, so Minhyun supposes the band playing must be fairly popular. The poster on the door had advertised a band called Snakey and the Snakes, along with a generic nightclub stock photo, so Minhyun didn’t have particularly high hopes.

“Can I order you a drink?” Hyunbin asks.

“I’m alright,” Minhyun says, tapping his foot as he waited for the band to start. “Do you come here often?”

“Not really,” Hyunbin answers. “But my friend Daniel is in this band, so I’m kind of obligated to see them play a couple times.”

“Snakey and the Snakes?” Minhyun asks. “Who came up with that?”

“The lead singer, Jaehwan, keeps changing the name,” Hyunbin says. “It’s really bad marketing. They used to be called Susan Stranglehands.”

Minhyun laughs. “How did they come up with that one?”

Hyunbin shrugs. “They’re weird guys. I doubt you know any of them, because they’re contemporary majors, but they’re cool.”

Minhyun nods. He only knows one contemporary major by name, and that’s his dickhead roommate. “I’ll have a listen and see how cool I think they are after that,” he jokes. 

Just as he says that, the band start playing. Secretly, he’s relieved for the distraction, because the atmosphere was really awkward. Minhyun has a feeling Hyunbin is starting to figure out that he doesn’t really like them.

There’s a lot of noise—that’s the first thing Minhyun notices. The song sounds like something that would’ve played on the alternative radio station in 2007, alongside some Fall Out Boy song. It’s not necessarily the type of music Minhyun would care to listen to.

The lights are very dramatic, so much that Minhyun can’t actually tell if he recognizes anyone, but somehow he finds himself nodding along all the same. Hyunbin has his phone out, filming something, probably to put on his famous Snapchat story. 

The singer stops suddenly and the song moves into an elaborate instrumental break. Minhyun can’t deny that the music is good—not something he would listen to, but he makes a note to find them online and send it to Dongho or someone.

His eyes fix on the drummer for a couple of seconds, somehow finding him both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. His heart races and he doesn’t know why, but he can’t take his eyes off the stage.

“You like them?” Hyunbin asks. He only nods, feeling slightly bad for his unresponsiveness. 

The thing is that Minhyun doesn’t just like music, he loves it. It’s his refuge, it’s one of the one things that constantly manages to make him happy, and he can almost always tell just by watching someone play if they love it as much as he does. And as he watches the drummer play, he could see it clear as day—someone like him, someone who truly did love music.

When the band finish their set, it feels like hours had passed by. When he actually checks his phone, he realizes that it’s only been an hour, but it feels like what Minhyun imagines coming down from a high would feel like.

The lights go back to normal. Minhyun squints at the stage to see if he can recognize anyone—more importantly, to see if he can recognize the drummer.

“Thanks for coming out,” the singer says. “You all make my life worth living.” A laugh runs through the other people in the bar. “My name is Kim Jaehwan, I’m the lead singer of Snakey and the Snakes, and if you want to support us please check out our Soundcloud.”

“Introduce the rest of us too,” the guitarist says. Another laugh.

Jaehwan hastily adds, “Can I also introduce the rest of my bandmates—Ha Sungwoon, on the guitar, Kang Daniel, on the bass, and Ong Seongwoo, on the drums.”

Minhyun freezes.

 _No,_ he thinks to himself, the grin sliding off his face. _No way._

“What’s wrong?” Hyunbin asks. “Do you know one of them?”

Minhyun shakes his head. “The drummer is my roommate,” he tells Hyunbin. “He’s kind of an asshole. I’m now disappointed in myself for enjoying his music.”

Hyunbin nods. “You want to get out of here before they come down to get their own drinks, then?”

“Yeah,” Minhyun replies. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

When they’re outside, walking back to campus, Hyunbin asks him, “Minhyun?” Minhyun looks towards him. “Do you actually like me, or are you just humouring me?”

Minhyun stares at the ground, suddenly uncomfortable. “Second option,” he admits. “I’m sorry.”

Hyunbin sighs. “Figured. You were more focused on the band than you were on me.” He shrugs. They’ve reached campus now, the point where they would normally part ways. “It’s alright, Minhyun. I’ll get over it.”

“Sorry,” Minhyun says again. Hyunbin shrugs and walks away from him, and Minhyun doesn’t know what he feels worse about—ignoring his date, ignoring his date to stare at another guy, or ignoring his date to stare at another guy who happened to be his asshole roommate.

Whatever. It wasn’t like Seongwoo would ever know.

 

“I have this shitty assignment,” Seongwoo tells the rest of the band as they get post-gig drinks. “It’s due in two days, and I haven’t started, because I have no inspiration and the professor specifically said we should focus on _capturing genuine emotions_.”

“Well, are you in love with anyone right now?” Jaehwan asks. Around the table, the other three band members roll their eyes. Jaehwan’s crush on one of the classical majors at the university is well-documented—according to Daniel, it’s the only reason Jaehwan ever steps foot on campus despite the fact that he dropped out six months into his freshman year.

“Fuck no,” Seongwoo says.

“Do you _hate_ anyone right now?” Sungwoon asks. They all look at him, confused. “What? Hate is just as genuine an emotion as love is. Why do you think there’s so many songs about exes, huh?”

“That’s fair enough,” Jaehwan says. “Who do you hate, Seongwoo?”

“My roommate,” Seongwoo answers automatically. “He’s my worst enemy.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows. “Not this shit again.”

“No, I’m serious,” Seongwoo says. “I hate my roommate.” He slides the notepad out of his bag and frowns at it. “How do I even start? _Get your violin out of the room / When you talk it feels like my doom_?"

“Good start,” Jaehwan says. “Needs to be more aggressive.”

“Isn’t his surname Hwang? You could make a joke about being an emperor.” The three of them stare at Daniel. “Because emperor in Korean is _hwangje_?” It was ridiculously ironic that the only one in their group with an English name was also the only one fluent in Korean, but Seongwoo didn’t bring that up.

He writes it down though. _Emperor = hwangje_.

By the end of the night, they’ve got a decent set of lyrics, and Seongwoo is pretty sure he can throw a chord progression and a couple GarageBand loops over it to make it sound presentable. “I can’t believe your so-called worst enemy has become your muse,” Sungwoon comments.

“Don’t put it like that,” Seongwoo replies. “It sounds gay.”

“You’re literally a homosexual man,” Jaehwan comments.

“Miss me with that gay shit,” Seongwoo answers. “I thought we were bringing emo back, didn’t a bunch of emo bands have feuds or whatever?”

“Yeah, like Bob Bryar and MCR,” Jaehwan replies.

“Or TVXQ and JYJ,” Daniel adds. When they all look at him confusedly, he sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Diss tracks about your roommate is totally emo,” Seongwoo says. “I won’t let any of you judge me for it.”

“Don’t you think you’re a bit too obsessed with him?” Sungwoon asks.

“Nope,” Seongwoo says. “He’s up in my business, I’m allowed to write diss tracks about him. He put himself there. If he’d just been quiet and hadn’t judged me for being in contemporary then I wouldn’t have a problem with him.”

 

To make a bit of extra cash, Minhyun tutors a high school junior called Park Woojin in the violin once a week. It’s decent, because his parents are rich so they pay pretty well, and it’s two hours worth of practice—although Minhyun doesn’t really think Woojin particularly likes the violin.

So with his violin case on his back, he makes his way up the steps to the Park house and rings on the doorbell. It’s his sixth week tutoring Woojin now, and he’s doing well. Minhyun has a feeling Woojin’s parents only want him to be good at violin so he could have all the competitions he was in on his college application. The boy was reluctant to learn, but he’s picked it up fairly quickly.

Woojin opens the door. “Hey,” he says. “My parents aren’t here, so there’s a family friend here because they’re really paranoid about leaving me home alone. He goes to your college, you might know him.”

“Maybe,” Minhyun says. “Will it make a problem if we practice?”

“I don’t think he’ll care,” Woojin says. “Are we going to start?”

Minhyun follows him into the front room. “We’re working on Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor, right?”

“Yeah,” Woojin says. “My music teacher says it’s a good bet to win the competiton coming up if I can get it right, remember.” He looks at him expectantly.

“Right,” Minhyun says. “Sorry, I’ve had a long week.” He examines the sheet music and takes a seat. “Play me what you have so far, and we’ll see how well you’re doing.”

When Woojin finishes, Minhyun nods. “Not bad,” he says. “Definitely better than you were last week. Have you been practicing?”

“Yeah,” Woojin says.

Minhyun smiles at him. “I can tell you’re not that interested in classical violin, huh?” 

“My parents don’t want me to try anything risky,” Woojin says. “I know for a fact this guy from another school, Jinyoung, is playing a Twice song for the competition, and I feel like that’ll be more attention grabbing.”

“Serious judges tend to like it if you have a classic piece,” Minhyun says. “If it’s being judged by professionals, they’ll take Chopin over Twice, as long as you can do it properly.” He leans back. “You’re coming on a bit too strong at parts, I’m worried you’re going to break it. Try playing it with less pressure.”

Woojin’s halfway through when a voice stops them. “How long is this song, Woojin?”

“Fuck off, you’ll see,” Woojin replies. “What do you want?”

“Just checking on you,” the voice says, stepping through the doorway into the front room. Minhyun’s heart stops when he looks at him. _Oh._ “Hey, Hwang. _You’re_ Woojin’s tutor?”

“Why’s that so surprising?” Minhyun asks defensively. But somehow, seeing Ong Seongwoo outside of their dorm feels different. Somehow, he feels like this is the Seongwoo who’d played the drums with such passion, who’d for an hour up on that stage had been such a different, such a _real_ person.

Somehow, he feels like he doesn’t want to fight with Seongwoo right now.

“It’s not,” Seongwoo says. 

“Why are you here?” Minhyun asks him, crossing his arms. Woojin looks between the two as if questioning. 

“I’m family friends with Woojin,” Seongwoo says. “’I’m practically his father.”

“You’re, like, four years older than me,” Woojin says.

“That’s no way to talk to your father.” Minhyun laughs despite himself, and Seongwoo’s eyes fix on him. “Was that funny, Hwang?”

“Honestly?” Minhyun answers. “Yeah, it was. You have your moments, Ong.”

Woojin sets his violin down. There’s a strange glint in his eyes, one that Minhyun doesn’t quite understand. “Minhyun, how about you play the piece to show me how it’s supposed to be?”

Warily, Minhyun picks up his own violin. “Alright,” he says, placing it into position and holding his bow. 

When Minhyun plays violin, the whole world fades away. He doesn’t pay attention to anything but the music, the instrument, the notes. When Woojin announces near the end of the song that he’s going to get a glass of water, Minhyun doesn’t even acknowledge it. And when he lowers the violin to catch Seongwoo staring in his direction, he wonders how he hadn’t felt his eyes on him before.

The room goes silent. “Crazy kid,” Minhyun finally says. “Asks to see me play so he can see how to do it, and leaves halfway through.”

Seongwoo laughs hollowly. “You’re pretty good, Hwang.”

Minhyun considers answering sarcastically, something along the lines of _yeah, I already know_. But something about Seongwoo’s tone tells him the compliment is sincere. “Thanks.”

Seongwoo hums. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Have I?” Minhyun asks. He has. Since the disastrous date with Hyunbin, he’s unknowingly been finding excuses not to be in the room with Seongwoo any more than he has to be. Somehow, it was easier when Minhyun blindly hated him. Now—now he’s not sure how he feels about Seongwoo. “I didn’t realize you noticed my presence that much.”

Seongwoo shrugs. “It’s weird that you’re never in the dorm. I kinda got used to you being there.”

Woojin coughs in the doorway. “Sorry to break this up,” he says, holding a half-empty glass of water, “but I kind of have a violin lesson to get back to that my parents are paying quite a bit for.”

“Right,” Seongwoo says. “See you, Minhyun.” Minhyun pretends he doesn’t notice the use of his first name.

Woojin returns to his place and picks up his violin. “So,” Minhyun says. “Back to Chopin?”

“Seongwoo is your roommate?” 

“Shut up, you punk,” Minhyun answers, nodding at the violin on the table. “Play the damn piece, Woojin.”

 

“You look like you’re angsting about something,” Jaehwan says, sitting down next to Seongwoo on one of the crates in his parents’s garage, also known as the practice space of the band currently named Snakey and the Snakes. “Or rather, some _one_.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Seongwoo grumbles, crossing his arms. “How are things going with piano boy?”

“They aren’t,” Jaehwan says. “But I wrote a really good song about him. What’re you up to?”

“This assignment,” Seongwoo says. “I’m supposed to make something versatile, it’s going to be judged and graded anonymously by some of the classical majors.” He lets out a deep sigh. “What if some _asshole_ judges mine? What if it’s _Minhyun_?” When he looks back to Jaehwan, he sees he’s grinning. “What?”

“You never used to call him his name,” Jaehwan replies.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Seongwoo asks. Jaehwan shakes his head at him. “Hey! What does it mean?”

“Never mind,” Jaehwan says. “Jisung’s got us a gig this Friday, by the way. It’s at the 50 Club.”

“No way,” Seongwoo says. The 50 Club was on campus—it was run by some students at the academy, and getting a performance there was ridiculously difficult. There was some ridiculous standards on it. Seongwoo had only been there once, when he’d snuck in with some high school friends, and he’d never had the opportunity to go again.

“This could seriously be our big break,” Jaehwan says. “Jisung reckons it would be a bad idea to change our band name again, even though I’m getting tired of this one. What do you think?”

“I mean, brand recognition and all,” Seongwoo says. “But as long as we aren’t called Jigglypuff Jackpot anymore, I’m happy.” He glances down onto the notepad. “I can’t think of anything.”

“What do you mean?” Jaehwan asks. “Just write another roommate diss track, damn.”

Seongwoo winces and stares at the ground. “I can’t.”

“How come?” Jaehwan asks. 

Seongwoo swallows. Try as he might, he can’t help but think about that night five days ago, watching Minhyun play, a voice in the back of his head saying that maybe he understands how people could enjoy classical music. “I don’t think I hate him anymore.”

Jaehwan grins. “You’ve finally admitted it?” 

Sungwoon looks up from his guitar. “Has Seongwoo finally figured it out?” he asks, amused.

“Finally,” Daniel remarks from the back of the garage.

“Figured what out?” Seongwoo asks.

“That you have a crush on your roommate,” Jaehwan says.

Seongwoo opens his mouth to protest, but then he considers. Normally, he would have protested—told them they were being ridiculous, as he did every other time one of his bandmates made the suggestion. But then he plays that moment from five days ago in his head, the fact that he’d written a song about Minhyun, the amount of time he’d spent thinking about him telling himself he didn’t like him, the way he’d decided he hated him as soon as he met him when he hadn’t even spoken to him.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

 

Minhyun glances the criteria up and down again, sitting in the library with his headphones on. The track he’s been sent by his professor to evaluate sits in his inbox, untouched.

He reads over it again, determined to do a good job, determined to keep his mind open. It was one thing to continue the classical-contemporary feud when it was just his roommate, and another when it was someone’s real grade.

He presses play on the track and listens.

There’s a lot of drums. That’s the first thing he notices. He makes a note of it, unsure how he feels about it other than the fact that as much as he tries not to, it reminds him of Seongwoo. 

Then the guy starts singing, and Minhyun realizes there was no need to make it anonymous because it was obvious. Ong Seongwoo’s singing voice sounded exactly the same as his speaking voice.

He tries to focus after that, noting down places where Seongwoo—the anonymous singer, he had to keep treating it as anonymous—could have improved and where he did well. 

He plays the track again, his notepad with some hasty notes about the instrumental and the production, realizing he’d totally forgotten to focus on lyrics. He listens again, trying to pay attention to the words.

Then he pauses the track and plays the pre-chorus again. And again. And a third time, to make sure he was hearing right. 

No, he was hearing right. Ong Seongwoo, real life Ong Seongwoo, singing about a boy with a violin that he desperately wanted to tell about his feelings. Minhyun wasn’t sure how many violinists Seongwoo knew, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t writing a love song about Woojin.

Minhyun shuts his laptop, slides it in his bag, and moves out of the library. He’s convinced that perhaps, this impulse decision won’t work out for him, but at the same time he can’t bring himself to care.

 

Seongwoo doesn’t expect the door to fly open when he’s in the middle of homework, but when it’s Minhyun, he’s even more surprised. “Hi,” he says, uncertain.

“You,” Minhyun says. Seongwoo winces, preparing for an attack. “You wrote a song about me.”

Seongwoo stands up. “How—what makes you say that?”

Minhyun shrugs his shoulders. “I got assigned your song,” he says, breathing heavily. “I know it’s yours. Your singing voice is distinctive.” He stares at him. Seongwoo feels like he’s staring right through him, that he can see through everything he’s built up.

“What makes you think it’s about you?” Seongwoo asks.

“How many violinists do you know?” Minhyun asks. He swallows. “Is it about me, Seongwoo?”

Hearing his first name out of Minhyun’s mouth is different. He’s not sure if Minhyun has ever called him Seongwoo before—not to his face, that was for sure. “Yes.” 

“Is everything you wrote true?” Minhyun asks. 

Seongwoo hangs his head. “Yes.”

Minhyun moves over to where Seongwoo stands in the middle of the room and presses his mouth to his. “So what are we waiting for, Ong?”

Seongwoo thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. Or perhaps this was hell. Whatever it was, he doesn’t find it in him to care—he just lets Minhyun kiss him, and hopes this works out.

 

Minhyun stares at the sea of faces, violin in hand, willing his nerves to go down. Try as he might, he can’t help but search for Seongwoo in the crowd, knowing it was probably stupid—that Seongwoo probably wasn’t even there.

He hadn’t played in front of a crowd for a while, but this was a public audition, meaning that people had brought whole crowds of people out to support them. So along with the judges, there were also a mass of strangers staring at him, wondering how good he would be.

“What’s your name?” one of the judges asks.

“Hwang Minhyun,” he replies. 

“And what are you playing?”

“Tchaikovsky,” Minhyun answers. “It’s the finale from _Swan Lake_.” It wasn’t a particularly taxing piece, which Minhyun had figured would mean he could show off his talents a bit more by playing with it. 

“Alright,” the judge says. “Go ahead.”

Normally, when Minhyun plays, the world fades around him. It’s a distraction, a way to forget what’s happening—a situation where he didn’t have to think too hard, where he could just let himself ignore everything around him. Normally, when Minhyun plays, he doesn’t think about anything but scales and notes and the movement of the bow against the violin.

But this time, he thinks.

( _”This—” Seongwoo asks, eyes red from sleep and hair mussed haphazardly, “—this isn’t going to be a thing, is it? Is this going to be serious?”_

_The way he says it dashes Minhyun’s hopes. Seongwoo talks about a serious relationship uncertainly, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted it—and Minhyun didn’t want to push him into something he didn’t want._

_But then he steels his face and shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “It’s not serious. Don’t worry.”_

_He looks away and doesn’t see Seongwoo’s face fall for a split second before he pulls himself together._ )

He thinks about Seongwoo, thinks about how things could have been if he’d insisted, if he’d told Seongwoo how he felt that morning a week ago, if he hadn’t started off their relationship with blind dislike. Try as he might, he can’t focus on the violin or the audition or the consequences of what might happen if he didn’t pass.

( _”I have an audition this Friday,” Minhyun tells Seongwoo._

 _Seongwoo hums in what seems to be uncaring acknowledgement. Minhyun shrugs and drops the conversation, not mentioning anything about inviting Seongwoo there._ )

He finishes the song, and puts down the bow. “Thanks for considering me,” he says, his heart thudding in his throat, knowing that he gave a less than satisfactory performance and certain that the judges were laughing at him. 

He leaves the hall and sits down on the bench, unsure of when his eyes had started watering. But Minhyun knows now that he’s made mistakes. 

Someone sits down beside him and pats him uncertainly on the shoulder. When he finally looks up, it’s Seongwoo, face concerned and smile unconfident. “You did well,” he says.

“You don’t know anything about violin,” Minhyun replies.

“Well, it sounded good,” Seongwoo defends.

Minhyun shrugs. “I think I messed up a few times. I was thinking too much.”

“Thinking about what?” Seongwoo asks.

Minhyun turns away. “You, actually.” He swallows. “I know I said okay, and if it’s what you truly want then it’s fine, but I didn’t want last week to be a one-time thing.”

Seongwoo is silent, and for a second Minhyun thinks he’s going to reject him before he speaks. “I didn’t, either,” he says. “I just thought from your tone that it was what you wanted, so I said no.”

Minhyun lets out a laugh. “We’re both idiots,” he says.

“Yeah,” Seongwoo says. And then, “Can you kiss me now?”

So Minhyun does.

 

 _Dear Hwang Minhyun,_ says the email. _Thank you for your audition. As the judges sensed excellent potential from you, we are extending the offer of a follow-up audition in order to create a shortlist of all candidates. Please respond by February 9th if you are interested._

Minhyun slides backstage at the club, jostling past a couple of girls to get to where he wanted. “Ong!” he calls. “I got a follow-up audition?”

Seongwoo sticks his head out of the door of what Minhyun assumes is some kind of waiting room. “Well done,” he says. “Knew you could do it. Always had faith in you.”

Minhyun slides over to where he was. “Good luck tonight,” he says, pecking Seongwoo on the cheek.

“I’ll think of you,” Seongwoo says, and as always Minhyun can’t tell if he’s being ironic. In the back of the room, Jaehwan mimes retching. “Shut the hell up, Jaehwan, make a move on piano boy before you talk to me.”

“Piano boy?” Minhyun asks.

Sungwoon rolls his eyes. “This guy in classical that Jaehwan’s been crushing on for about three years. We don’t know his name. I don’t think Jaehwan has ever had a conversation with him.”

“I might know him?” Minhyun offers. His phone buzzes just then with a text. “Ah, my friends are looking for me.”

“You brought friends?” Daniel asks.

“Wow,” says Sungwoon. “Seongwoo, I suddenly like your kinda-pretentious violin boyfriend if he’s bringing his kinda-pretentious friends to watch us play.”

“That’s how it is with Minhyun,” Seongwoo says. “You think he’s annoying and pretentious at first, but he grows on you.” 

Minhyun rolls his eyes. “And what about you, Ong? Did you ever stop being annoying and pretentious?”

Seongwoo laughs. “No,” he says. “You just got used to it.”

**Author's Note:**

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